


Metaphorically Speaking

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Community: random_fic_is_random, Dom/sub, Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the other <a href="http://random-fic-is-random.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://random-fic-is-random.dreamwidth.org/"><strong>random_fic_is_random</strong></a> New Year's comment fic I forgot to repost.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Metaphorically Speaking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [helens78](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/gifts).



> This is the other [](http://random-fic-is-random.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**random_fic_is_random**](http://random-fic-is-random.dreamwidth.org/) New Year's comment fic I forgot to repost.

  
Jason's not particularly given to metaphors, but the way they move around the kitchen together has become a good one for their life as a whole. One of the first things he told Viggo, just after the first wine-stained kiss brushed across his lips, just before he started to think about the last time he'd fallen in love, was that he switches. Viggo had smiled in that easy, lopsided way of his, and traced down Jason's arms with all ten fingertips, tripping over the folded-up shirt cuffs and ghosting over the fine hairs on his forearms. "I think you'll find," he said calmly, voice low and rough and full of a thousand promises, "that it's a lot more than that."

Jason hadn't known what he meant that night, but he does now. It is, everything with Viggo is. _More_. More of a fit than he's ever felt with a partner. More control and power in topspace, more surrender, more catharsis in subspace. More fluidity, more bend and weave between the two. There aren't even two separate spaces anymore, when Jason thinks about his sexuality. It's more of a line, or even an entire plane, an infinite number of points and possibilities to where they might go when Viggo's lips slide over his own, when Viggo's fingers encircle a wrist just below his fine gold watch, when Viggo's smile speaks his name.

The way they move together in the kitchen, then, is the best metaphor Jason's found for all this. Viggo slides close behind him as he reaches up for the spice cabinet, grabbing for chilli powder and saffron and tumeric in unlabelled glass bottles. Jason chops vegetables for the curry as Viggo lets the meat sizzle in one of his heavy black cast-iron pans, one of several that travel with him wherever he goes. Viggo once pressed his fingers to Jason's bare hips as he made pancakes in a cast-iron skillet, and whispered the history of those well-seasoned pieces of cookware along the curve of Jason's shoulder. It's crap as a learning technique, but Viggo has a way of blending history and memory and taste and scent that Jason's never found in any other man, in any woman.

The curry comes together, a complex array of scents and tastes and textures, and they move around each other without having to warn, the meal taking shape silently as their mouths start to water in anticipation. Viggo pours glasses of homemade white wine and they settle down to eat on the sofa, tipsy and horny, feeding each other bites and laughing at old jokes half-remembered. The sweetness of the saffron and the bite of the chilli and the warm glow of the tumeric come together with meat and vegetables and the subtly possessive curve of Viggo's arm around his waist to make Jason feel both light and full. There really is no better metaphor.  



End file.
